


Wrong sweater?

by annalied (orphan_account)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Jean uses the f-word a lot, M/M, another kind of sweater porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2423426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/annalied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean doesn't understand why he has turned into some kind of public lunch entertainment. Connie and Sasha aren't helpful, but maybe Marco is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong sweater?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is my first JeanxMarco fic, written between nosebleed intervals (I'm ill) and swooning over fanart on Tumblr. Give it a go?

“Oh for Christ’s sake! _What the fuck are you looking at?!_ ”

Connie and Sasha both jump in their seats, even thought my sudden outbreak wasn’t directed towards them but to the table across the cantine, whose occupiers have giggled and twisted and craned their necks to watch me long enough to be pretty bloody suspicious.

The worst part isn’t even the fact that they don’t stop staring even after I’ve yelled at them; I have the eyes of roughly 200 people on me now, looking at me with some kind of mixture between leery smiles and dirty stares. I groan and empty my glass of water when I spot how both of my table mates writhe uncomfortably in their seats. My eyes narrow.

“You wouldn’t possibly have a clue what this is all about, would you” I threaten, rather than ask.

Connie’s eyes widen and he looks out of the window and Sasha blushes instantly, stuttering a “noo”, which proves that they sure as hell have a clue of why I’m suddenly some kind of lunch entertainment for public appreciation. I comb though my hair with my hand, checking it for tousles, while taking another look around me, only to find that -yep- everyone’s eyes are firmly plastered upon me, which emerges into another fit of giggles from the corner table. Whether I should laugh or cry, I have no idea. After finishing my beef stew, I decide to take my leave as coolly as possible, only to be interrupted in my thoughts by my roommate, who puts his tray down next to mine.

My roommate goes by the name of Marco Bodt and today he wears a half blue, half grey t-shirt with black jeans. He is freckled and has very dark brown hair that I know is a bitch for parting in the middle no matter what he does to it. We’ve tried flatteners, enough hair gel to set the campus on fire and, at an occasion with alcohol involved, hair curlers, but that damned parting haunts him still. I haven’t told him that he looks great in it.

Marco smiles and says hi, I smile and say hey. He sits down next to me and looks wondering at my table mates, who are at the moment going through a meltdown which makes them stuck somewhere between muffled laughters and almost choking on their food. I catch myself wishing that the latter would happen.

“Um, what is going on?” Marco asks them and they just shake their heads and Sasha blushes and Connie starts to have serious troubles with breathing as he looks at my audience. I take another peek at my surroundings and instantly, I deeply regret my decision to stay because of the naïve idea that having Marco here would make me feel better; the nearest tables are having similar reactions as those of my so-called-friends.

“Marco, has someone given me a moustache or written _dick_ on my forehead?” I ask him straightforwardly and he blinks.

“Um, no. You look pretty normal to me.”

“Then why do I feel like people stare at me?!” I sigh, exasperated, and that’s when Marco takes another look at me and stiffens in his seat, which makes me stiffen as well. “What?”

The corners of his mouth quiver slightly, as if he wants to laugh but knows he shouldn’t, and he looks at my upper body. “Um… I have a theory… Jean, could you turn around?” I raise my eyebrows and do as he says (this is where Connie and Sasha lose it completely). I display my back to him, or rather, as it turns out, the back of my sweater.

Which is, as Marco kindly informs me, _his_ sweater. _His_ soccer sweater. The one with _his_ name painted very clearly and literally across the back.

“Oh fuck” I say.

“Oh no” Marco chuckles.

This is where I should be taking a cool stroll out of the canteen and not give a flying fuck about the fact that the entire school is now convinced that Marco and I have become intimate.

This is also where I sprint out of the canteen, leaving a heap of shocked faces behind, including Marco’s.

Never, not even on the toughest of days, has the journey to our room seemed to long. I’m sprinting, but I still manage to pick up some crude comments along the way that I shall never speak loudly of. Our dorms are, thank you Lord, empty because of lunch hour and I find the key in my pocket where it should be. I tear his sweater off the moment I’ve locked the door behind me, but it’s not like that makes any difference. The damage is already done and leaked and probably twittered a couple of times too many.

I sit down on the floor next to the sweater and I pick it up, brushing of the dust from my rough treatment. I am pissed off. Mainly at myself, because even if we had a blackout in our room this morning and even if I was late for class, it's still so weird that I didn't realise how long its sleeves were, how I had to pull up the neck lining from falling past my shoulder and how it smelt a lot nicer than I usually do. As i lift it to my nose, it smells of fresh grass, minty shower gel and a little sweat because it is a soccer sweater after all. It smells of Marco… I, if anyone, should’ve noticed his scent earlier than this. Such a stupid, stupid mistake.

And I call it a mistake because now I have to explain to people that we’re not in a relationship of the nature they imagine and that means I will have to lie and say that _no, I do not have feelings for my roommate_ , when the truth is galaxies away from that. I have to do that for Marco.

It’s not until I hear knocking on the door that I realise how clogged my voice is and how wet my cheeks are.

It’s Marco. “Jean? Are you in there?”

 _Fuck fuck fuck_. Here I am on the floor, crying while holding his sweater like a baby.

“I’m coming in, ok?”

_And he has a key._

When he unlocks the door, I haven’t been able to move an inch and I look away the moment his freckled face appears. I try to discreetly wedge away from the sweater that I have petted until this moment, but I give it up.

“Jean, are you okay?” Marco asks and sits down on the floor in front of me, just like that.

“Yeah” I mutter and let the sweater slip onto the floor. He sighs and I can almost make out a smile on his soft-looking lips, but it’s hard since I’m looking in another direction and also my vision is sort of blurry which is very unmanly and ridiculous.

“Hey, don’t worry about it” he smiles. “We can just explain it to them tomorrow” he reassures and leans into my field of vision. “Jeeeaan?”

I turn my head so far away from him I think my neck is going to crack any second now.

“Jean, are you crying?”

 _Shit_.

“No” I say and wipe away one treaturous tear that rolls down my cheek as if I wasn't obvious enough already.

Marco is suddenly very, very silent and I dare to steal a glance at his expression. It's sad, far from the amused face I expected, and now it's his turn to look away while I stare at him. "Jean... Would it really be that bad?" he mumbles just loud enough for me to hear and he pulls on a thread in his sweater, which lies between us as some kind of metaphorical statement.

"What?" I don't know what he's talking about. I think the beef stew might’ve replaced my brain.

"Would it really be that bad if they thought we were... I mean if it was true..." that's how far he gets before a ragged breath breaks him off.

I feel my own pulse hammering as I stutter "N-no, that's not why I'm..." I wipe away another tear and then a few more because they're attacking me with full force now.

"It's not?" Marco brightens a little, but then his features darken again. "What is it, then?"

 _Here goes nothing_ , I think, but it feels like _here goes everything_. Everything, including Marco’s friendship.

"I - Uh... Wouldn't mind at all if...if it was true" I mumble. And I feel so, so exposed and also a bit lonely there in front of him, topless and cold and scared and my heart is pounding so hard I think he hears it.

"What?" says Marco and I think I'm screwed but there's no going back now, is there? But now he smiles a little, warm smile that makes my heart skip a couple of hammering beats. I rub away a tear from my right eye and wipe it off on my jeans. His fingers catch a tear from my left eye and he’s touching my cheek and the tear is smeared beyond recognition and he leans forward.

I sit with my knees to my chest as Marco, cross-legged, leans into my space and looks into my eyes while keeping his hand on my cheek and the other one on my arm, but he stops, his dark gaze inches from my grey one. I think my heart has stopped as well, at least my brain stopped functioning many minutes ago.

Now that scent is under my nose again and I inhale to get more of it and then I lean forward the last bit to meet his lips.

My first kiss with Marco is slow, hesitant and way too short. He breaks away too soon, watching me with an expression I’ve never seen him wear before. Flustered, surprised and mildly hazy. _Gorgeous_. “Really?” he breathes.

Pulling him in by his neck and dragging myself closer, I murmur “that’s my line” and kiss him again. This time, I’m not planning on breaking it off halfway through, but I don’t even have to work for it. He responds with a hum and leans into it, my hands in his hair; the hand that left my cheek just now finds its way back there and slides down to my nape and I wonder if it’s okay to be this happy. Carefully and so slowly it’s bordering to painful, he opens his mouth to briefly suck at my lower lip and I part my lips as well, tasting him and getting as much as I can of his scent. He tastes vaguely of spearmint, his favorite bubblegum flavor, and I probably taste like rice but I can’t find any reason to care. Especially not as he kisses me a little more eagerly and keeps pushing until I lean so far backwards I’m basically lying on the floor with his hands on each side of my head, a knee between my thighs, his lips sucking on mine, his tongue exploring my mouth and his scent overpowering my senses and the little of what's left of my brain.

But once again, he’s the one to break off, which makes me frown in frustration and him to chuckle happily. His lips are a little plump and moist as he says “you can keep it. The sweater.”

When he has kissed me again, a little more carefully, he continues with “it suits you” and I say “really?” again and he nods while leaving small pecks in the dried tear trails on my cheeks and jaw line.

“I could put it on again if you want me to” I say and reach for it, which is as stupid as it is out of reach because why would I want that when _his hands are on. My. Bare. Chest_?

Marco stops my hand half way and kisses me on the mouth again, lips parted, breathing life into me along with fervour and sparks. 

“Nah” he whispers. “It’s still going off sooner or later…”, he looks into my eyes as if asking for permission, “...if you want to?”

I pull him down by his neck again because that is by far the stupidest question ever directed towards me and he is very gorgeous and beautiful and also my pants are getting tighter.

“Fuck yeah” I say.

“Oh yeah” he chuckles.

**Author's Note:**

> *sobs* writing kiss scenes is a nightmare... but still kind of fun... Ugh I felt like both Jean and Marco were so OOC in this but I enjoyed writing it so don't judge me okay xD (It's fine to judge me a little) 
> 
> Please leave a comment or Kudos if you feel like it :)


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